


Adamantine and Unyielding

by shiphitsthefan



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Will, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Blood Drinking, Blood Magic, Bondage, Heat Torture, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Hannibal, Pederasty, Power Imbalance, Ritual Sex, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-13 07:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11754771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: The boy laughs, and pulls another strip of meat from a bag at his side. He wraps it around a cloth ball, then throws it as far as he can into the woods, the Cerberus bounding after it.A human playing fetch with the great dog. Curious, indeed.“He likes you,” Will says, calling out from the trees. The boy doesn’t startle, merely turns his head, and oh, how Will wants. High cheekbones; a prominent jaw; eyes that rival Midas' gold. “What is your name, boy?”“Perhaps I am Faust,” he replies, a small smile playing across his face, sharp fangs within his mouth. “Assuming you are Mephistopheles, that is.”***Will has acted as Hades for hundreds of years, but never once has he claimed a Persephone of his own. Hannibal, however, may prove to be a fruit impossible not to taste.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a series of ficlets for #[SummertimeSlick](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/SummertimeSlick), but I decided to make it do double duty for #[BottomHannibalDay](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11754189/collections). The title comes from a description of Hades in the _Iliad_. I used the prompt "role reversal" from the #SummertimeSlick calendar.
> 
> One last note: [Devereauxs_Disease](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease) and I managed to have similar ideas, but she told me to take on the fic. Many thanks to her! <3

In the hundreds of years Will has spent as acting Hades, this is the first day that Cerberus has refused his call. It’s discomfiting, primarily because Cerberus listening to him is the only reason Will was appointed to begin with. But Will’s unease passes quickly; there isn’t exactly a higher-up to demote him anymore.

He whistles again, and then a third time. Sighing, Will swings his legs from over the arm of his throne and stands up, trying to remember the last time he actually left the palace and went surface-side. It’s been long enough for him to have forgotten the name of the last Persephonic pledge he walked back to the river’s shore. Molly, he thinks. Or was it Alana? Matthew?

Chiyoh will know, he’s sure, assuming Chiyoh is still guarding her boat and hasn’t simply grown bored and ferried herself on down the Styx.

The Diamond Gate stands unguarded, but that isn’t all that surprising these days. There isn’t really anything  _ to _ guard, what with the Old Ways dying out. All the souls flow down different streams; the ones in Will’s care have faded to whispers and blown away, with none to replace them. He would feel a failed alpha, were dynamics not all but forgotten, too. Only the cultists seemed to keep up with the rites.

“He’s not here,” says Chiyoh.

Will smiles. “Beaten anyone with an oar recently?”

“You asked me that thirty-eight years ago.”

“That would be a no, then?” Will feels the heat of her eyes on the side of his face. “Did you see which way Winbusmax went?”

Chiyoh’s eyes smolder blue. “I’m not the Cerberus’ keeper, nor have I ever been. The souls were my only charges.”

“Not the tributes?”

She blinks; the smoke is suffocating. “Those were yours.”

“Hey,” begins Will, “who was the last one, anyway? I can’t remember.” Chiyoh only shrugs. “Really doesn’t matter. They all knew better than to dine with me.”

“The antlers are somewhat off-putting.”

“Good talk,” he says, then strolls on across the river before she can do more than singe his stubble.

The marshlands are the same, a strange grey-green where the five rivers meet. Will wonders if the Nightmares still walk, or if they have faded like the rest. Then again, the suicides are still bound to the trees, mouths open and heads drooping. Their dynamics have faded; all that remains is the smell of mud and moss.

Will stops. There  _ is _ another scent. Peaches. Cinnamon.

He follows it.

Deep in the marshlands at the Convergence, the woods are verdant, vibrant. The waters run blue instead of slate, an oasis of color and life in the land of the dead. Long ago, the gods would bring their oaths and pledges here, at the edge of the veil. It’s the only place humans can tread without losing their souls to the mist.

And there, upon the rocks, sits the most beautiful boy Will has ever seen. His dress is unfamiliar--how much has the outside world changed while Will lingers here?--but the simple whites and blacks offset the rich tan of his skin. The boy’s hair is remarkable, a strange sandy color, somehow already tinged with silver, though he can’t be more than eleven. A single yellow narcissus sits tucked behind his ear.

He is an omega, Will knows, yet still unpresented. Ripe before his first heat. Will never understood the pederasts of old until now. He aches to take the boy back with him, to teach him how to rule the dead, to bind him to the Underworld and one day hand him the throne. It’s impossible not to scent the darkness within the child.

Most importantly, Winbusmax sits at his feet, wagging his tail, clearing the grass along the Convergence with each swipe.

The boy laughs, and pulls another strip of meat from a bag at his side. He wraps it around a cloth ball, then throws it as far as her can into the woods. The Cerberus bounds into the forest.

A human playing fetch with the great dog.

“He likes you,” Will says, calling out from the trees. The boy doesn’t startle, merely turns his head, and  _ oh, _ how Will wants. High cheekbones; a prominent jaw; eyes that rival Midas' gold. “What is your name, boy?”

“Perhaps I am Faust,” he replies, a small smile playing across his face, sharp fangs within his mouth. “Assuming you are Mephistopheles, that is.”

“Hades the thirteenth. So close enough for the work of a king.”

Will’s Faustian friend tilts his head. There is an uncanny maturity to this boy, a powerful intellect matched only by a sinister cruelty. “Do you wish me to leave?”

“Only if you refuse me your true name,” says Will. He pushes himself off the tree, summons his skin of black blood and Hephaestus’ antlers. The boy loses his composure momentarily, gaze flicking down to Will’s naked groin, but quickly back to Will’s own eyes. “Or else agree to my terms.’

“Which are?”

“Keep the Cerberus company, just as you are now.” Will grins and adds, “I would bring more flesh next time, however. It’s been a long, long time since my dogs dined on the dead.”

His guest straightens, and the emotion drains from his face. “This was my first kill,” he says. “It went poorly.”

“Then I suppose you shall have to practice, won’t you?”

The boy is up and striding to him, kneeling at Will’s feet, and Will’s breath catches, lodged in his throat--he can’t recall when he was last worshiped properly. “I would be your apprentice, should you allow it.”

Will caresses the child’s face, thrills as he leans into the touch. “For the last time, then, I ask your name, boy.”

“Hannibal.” A whispered gasp. Will wants to hear it in his bed.

“Good boy,” and Hannibal’s moan is precious. “Tell me, Hannibal: are you hungry?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ecstatic that you all are enjoying this so much! Your comments and asks and reblog notes were the highlight of my day. <3
> 
> This was written for the #SummertimeSlick prompt "knot denial".

Hannibal comes and goes as he pleases, still having private tutors Earthside. As much as Will longs to keep him all to himself, Hannibal is too bright to deny an education. Besides, now that Will has taught Hannibal to harvest the souls of his victims, the Underworld serves a purpose once more. Hannibal is a quick study in the Old Ways; he will make an ideal Persephone and, someday, a perfect Hades. For now, however, Will requires his deadly skills in the world above.

The Judges tease him, especially Frederick. “Your apprentice will surpass you in no time, at all,” he says. “Already his cruelty knows no bounds.”

Will only smiles. His boy is devoted, a beggar at his feet the closer he grows to his first heat. Hannibal may be a wild force of chaos, but Will holds the leash.

Chiyoh has grudgingly accepted Hannibal. They puzzle with each other as she ferries him back and forth, though she is all too glad to bind him when Hannibal cries and clings to Will, wanting to stay. She’s apparently left him at the Convergence that way more than once over the two years Will’s denied Hannibal his bed, his bond.

“He’ll be your prisoner soon enough,” Chiyoh tells him. “He might as well enjoy breaking free while he still can.”

Will would punish her, were it an option. On the other hand, he can’t deny how greatly he enjoys the idea of his boy wriggling himself free and walking back angrily through the portal. It amuses him, to think of Hannibal in the same predicaments he was placed in himself so long ago.

Eventually, Will’s stubborn omega refuses to leave, staying at the Convergence, lying bound in the grass next to the river Lethe, drinking from it, trying futilely to make himself forget. But Hannibal has eaten at Will’s table, though not from the pomegranate. There’s no forgetfulness to be found in those waters for Hannibal.

Mighty dead Zeus, but Will loves him.

Hannibal’s heat comes before Will is ready to bond with him and keep him permanently. He sighs as he crosses the Styx, off to collect his boy, uncertain whether he wishes to torture him or not. Will was not prepared to lie with Hannibal before his age. Thirteen is far too young to be a true consort. Regardless, the temptation is great. Will has no compunction to resist the sweet taste of his future mate now.

He kneels beside him, fully human, a visage free of fright. Hannibal whines, and Will is touched by the measure of complete trust, by the total submission of his vicious, hard-headed boy.

“You’re burning up, aren’t you?” asks Will, touching the lengths of rope one at a time, turning them to smoke. Hannibal nods, reaching for him as soon as his arms are free. His eyes are feverish, more red than gold, like moonlit blood tapped from the crucified far, far down within the circles. “I’m going to help you,” he promises, “but we will not bond this heat, beloved.”

“Please, Alpha.” His voice is high-pitched, innocent, lyrical, like the choral hymns of Will’s first days as the Lord of the Underworld. “Please, my only god.”

“I’m sorry. As beautifully as you beg, little one, the answer is still no. You will be denied, and you will enjoy it.” Will takes him in his arms, Hannibal too limp and tired to do more but lie there, and begins the walk back to his palace.

 

* * *

 

The altar wasn't the most comfortable place, but Will has done his best to make it a more soothing nest. He found the Ravenstag out in the marshlands, convincing it to submit to plucking; its feathers will grow back, but Hannibal will only have one first heat. The sheet and pillow are from Will's own bed in hopes that it will comfort his boy in the time he is left alone.

Hannibal has done such a wonderful job of renewing the Styx. Will hopes that his tribute will fully reawaken the Old Gods.

He’s scenting Will’s neck, whimpering softly when he smells nothing. But Will shushes Hannibal as he lays him on the altar, soothes him more as he fastens the chains to his wrists and ankles. Hannibal looks up at him, confused, then petrified as Will takes up the knife.

“Trust in me, my lovely penitent,” Will says as he begins to cut off Hannibal’s clothes. Hannibal groans, arching up as best he can. It isn't much; the chains are too tight, spreading him across the altar, elbows bent to put his forearms down against the sides, and knees spread to do likewise. “How pretty you look like this, every inch of you mine.”

“Feels...Alpha, it feels so  _ good.” _

Will smiles. “I know. I remember my time as the sacrifice, myself, though I was much older than you.” He tosses the knife in the air, catching it easily. “And I was not so pliant, so willing to spend my rut crying out to the Gods.”

He wasn't nearly this gorgeous, either, not like Hannibal, his tan skin blushing ruddy with his heat. Will runs his hand up the inside of a strong thigh, though he'd much rather stroke Hannibal's cock, still growing as he ages, full and erect and weeping now. But it's Hannibal’s cunt that draws Will's eyes the most, the glisten of his very first sweet slick on his folds. It has only now begun to flow, and he marvels at how greatly Hannibal seems to enjoy his predicament.

Will simply can't deny himself a taste.

Hannibal squirms beneath Will's mouth as he laps at his cunt greedily. His little sighs of pleasure are exquisite, and Will feels drunk already. He licks down Hannibal's thighs, and his boy tries to push back into Will's face, but he can't move enough. Will grins and takes pity, although he is hardly merciful, fucking Hannibal shallowly with his tongue, just enough to tease. Hannibal's heat is mounting higher--Will can smell it on him as he mouths his way up his body. Hannibal shudders beneath him, tense and wanton as Will's cock presses against his own.

Will lays the knife beside Hannibal, summoning the seeds of the pomegranate, a vial full of promise. Surely his future mate will eat them. He had the offer to eat six before. Who could fault Will for supplying all twelve now?

“Are you hungry, my omega?” he asks, voice dripping with honey.

But Hannibal shakes his head. “I crave you, but you will not trick me today, Alpha.” His smile is triumphant, and Will is disappointed, yet impressed by the strength of Hannibal’s will, as well.

“As you wish.” Will closes his eyes, straddling Hannibal's stomach, and drops his robe. “I suppose you want my knot,” says Will, taking his cock in hand.

_ “Please.” _

Will hums as he pumps his cock, little finesse, but slow just enough to taunt his omega. “When you’re older,” he says. “You’ll still be tight as a vestal virgin when I fuck you for the first time.” Hannibal’s head is tossed to the side to bare his neck, and there are tears at the corners of his eyes.

**“Watch me,”** commands Will, and he’s never used the Voice before. Hannibal’s eyes snap to Will; he stills, licking his lips as he watches Will pleasure himself. It doesn’t take long for Will’s knot to begin to inflate, and Hannibal’s sobs are dry, his head held up to better see.

“Such a very good boy.” Will spares a hand to trace over Hannibal’s face, to pet his scent glands and down his neck to his chest. Hannibal’s omegan breasts have yet to develop--oh, how young he is! How perfect and tempting in his youth! Will almost wishes he’d done this sooner. “I’ll let you come some day,” Will promises, stroking Hannibal’s nipples one at a time, his moans like music. “Would you like to see my knot, my handsome omega?”

Hannibal nods so hard that Will has to rush his hand to the back of his head to prevent him from hitting it on the stone. He rubs it while he’s there, enjoying the silky softness of Hannibal’s hair.

“I’m yours,” Hannibal whispers. “I had neither chance nor desire to resist, so here I am, and I belong to no one else.”

Will’s own eyes grow misty. “Sometimes I don’t feel I deserve you. My vicious beast.”

“Come on me,” says Hannibal, still quiet. “Mark me, my Lord.”

His young voice is so erotic that Will almost comes immediately. But he holds out long enough for his knot to grow in his fist, to cry out from the force of his orgasm, to paint Hannibal’s chest and face in white. Will leans down, careful not to disturb his mess, and he kisses his love for the first time. He tastes himself on Hannibal’s lips, tacky and wet, his tongue slipping out, a question for Will’s mouth that he is happy to answer.

Against Hannibal’s mouth, breathing the words onto his palate to savor, Will says,  **“** **Ά** **νερρίφθω κύβος.”** 1

The cut across Hannibal’s throat is ugly and unkind, but the blood that spills to either side of his neck, that runs down the grooves of the altar and ever downward is gorgeous. So is the spray that bathes Will’s face in red, dripping into his eyes and mouth. Will licks his lips, and Hannibal moans silently, every chord sliced through.

It’s so difficult to leave Hannibal there, among the candlelight and incense, but Will promises him that he’ll return, to feed him and give him water, and to drink his fill of his slick. Hannibal’s first heat will be long and difficult, but his omega is strong. Will knows he will survive and come out truly devoted to the gods and, most importantly, to Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 “Let the die be cast.” An indication that events have reached the point of no return.
> 
> See you on Sunday for the last chapter! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some intentional pronoun shifting in this chapter, so be aware of that as you read. Otherwise, here's the thrilling conclusion, inspired by the #SummertimeSlick prompt "Slick Sunday"!

Two more long years they’ve waited. Sexual sacrifice, all the fertility of his obscene youth, one heat after another, until Hannibal comes just from the sight of the altar and again from the chains on his wrists and ankles. Will never remembered becoming so conditioned to the ritual. Perhaps because Hannibal is so young and has been trained for three years.

Will doesn’t care. The Gods, after centuries of silence, have approved of Will’s  protégé, and that’s all that matters.

Hannibal comes to him in the morning, riding the stag across the river. It is Hades who meets him on the shore, his skin gray and his antlers covered with the gore of the Second Circle. He extends his hand, and Persephone takes it, giving him the slight smile she has developed during her time here, a side-effect of the pleasure found in her duty and devotion to the Old Ways. Taking his Persephone in his arms, he carries her across the Styx through the Diamond Gate.

She presses kisses up and down Hades’ neck, and reaches one hand up to stroke his antlers. Hades’ chest rumbles, delighted, and Persephone purrs in response. It makes sense, to stop there in the throne room, to kiss his bride passionately, viscera dripping down into Persephone’s hair, dying the crown of yellow narcissus, relishing her little hum. The blood of their victims looks so beautiful dripping down his omega’s face. His own blood will look even better on her later.

Hades’ bed is large, a carefully-built nest for his soon-to-be mate. He has laid in it nightly, scenting the bedding; stuffed new pillows one at a time from the feathers on the altar; slayed the Nightmares one by one and taken their furs. Anything he can do to make his omega comfortable, Hades has done.

Persephone rubs her cheek against the sheet when she lies down in the nest. Watching her enjoying the sensation so shamelessly, Hades can’t help but wonder if it will always be like this when he takes her to bed, or if it is a consequence of her youth, or else her anticipation of this moment. They’ve waited so long for this day to come, but Hades wants the mischief and monster of his Hannibal. Maybe after they’ve mated; then again, perhaps Persephone is like this during all of her heats, pliable and desirous and oh so willing.

**“Give me your hands, lovely child.”**

She does, shifting restlessly at the familiar feel of metal on her wrists. “I won’t need these,” Persephone says, smirking, drawing up her legs. They part--Hades can see how wet she is, her gown sticking to her cunt, slick beginning to run onto the sheets. He takes a moment to trace down her slit with the tip of his finger, watches her eyes flutter closed as she tries to press into it, to take his hands where she needs it so badly.

**“You will,”** mutters Hades, lost in the feel of Persephone’s slick through Athena’s cloth.  **“At least,** **_I_ ** **will. You were supposed to be abducted, according to ritual.”** He smiles, all teeth and terror.  **“Most are not such eager, wanton little things, however.”**

Persephone bites her lip as Hades climbs on the bed, pressing the back of his hand against her soaked cunt. “Then you are to be appeased? Was that the purpose of my suffering all these months?”

Hades glances up at her, meeting her eyes, still smiling. Instead of responding, he mouths at her cock through the fabric, groaning against the flesh when more slick gushes forth.

He can’t wait any longer. Damn the Ritual; damn the Ways;  _ damn the Gods. _

Persephone is flipped onto her front, gasping. Without warning, Hades fuses the cuffs behind her back, using them as a fulcrum. His other hand rips through the material of her gown, baring her sex to him. Pulling her up to her knees, back to his chest, Hades pushes in, and she cries out, slick flowing over his balls and dripping down to pool on the bed beneath them.

**“Heat for me,”** orders Hades, and Persephone shivers and shakes as her body obeys, burning to full heat immediately.

She lets her head drop between her shoulder blades as he uses her wrists to hold her still, her back angled, arching, presenting on her knees. Each moan is a punctuation of his cock slamming into her; Hades does not seek out the perfect spot inside her, because she is his to take. Let his Persephone writhe beneath him in pleasure later, even though she practically sings with it now, meeting him thrust for thrust as much as she is able.

Persephone’s voice is weak as she submits to her place as the vessel of a god. “Alpha,” she cries, “use me. Knot me. Claim me, Alpha, _please!”_

He yanks her back up onto her knees, head lolling to the side, baring her throat to him. Hades snarls as his knot begins to grow, and keeps pushing into her, reaching down to collect her slick. Persephone shudders as Hades paints her with it--her face; her neck; her chest, where he stops to fondle her, a gentle counterpoint to the roughness of their joining.

At last, he bends his head to lick at her scent glands, locks inside of her, and bites down, rending the flesh as she screams her own completion. Hades falls upon her, covering her as she lies on the bed again, drinking the blood of his willing omega. Reaching between them, Hades burns the cuffs to ash, giving her back her hands, though she whines until he laces their fingers together, arms on either side of her head. He moves shallowly, grinding into her, and there is the spot Persephone craved his touch. Hades is soaked with slick as she comes again.

The god breathes in; Will breathes out, his antlers fading away as he turns them onto their sides. “Are you alright, little beast?” he asks, still sucking at Hannibal’s neck intermittently.

“If I am to expect that all of my life,” says Hannibal, still catching his breath, “then I am perfect.”

“That you are,” Will replies, and Hannibal laughs in his arms. “Tell me when you grow faint,” and he returns to sating his thirst on his sacrificial wolf, for there are no lambs in this bed. Eventually, Hannibal taps at Will’s arm. “Drink from me,” says Will, presenting the wrist of the arm pillowing Hannibal’s head. He exhales happily as Hannibal does, biting him just as harshly as Will bit him.

For the last time, Will conjures a pomegranate, cracking it in half with his hand. The first half rolls off the back of the bed; as for the second, he lies it in front of Hannibal.

“Are you ready to eat with me now?” he asks, unlatching Hannibal from his arm. As suspected, Will’s blood is the ideal addition to his omega’s face, painting Hannibal’s lips a rich red. Will plucks a seed from the pomegranate, and holds it to Hannibal’s mouth.

One by one, Hannibal eats not six, not twelve, but every seed Will feeds to him, until the halved pomegranate lies empty, and Hannibal is fated to lie in his arms forever.

Will takes up Hannibal’s cock again, hand stained with juice, pumping him lazily as Hannibal returns to lapping up the blood that flows from Will’s arm like the Styx, soul-filled, life-giving, and endless as death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope the filth was enjoyable. <3

**Author's Note:**

> [[aesthetic post on tumblr](https://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/post/163987534484/adamantine-and-unyielding-alpha-willomega)]
> 
> [[about me](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/about)] [[tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/)] [[twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan)]
> 
> Kudos and [comments](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/profile) validate my existence. <3


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